Hazing
by aboxofbears
Summary: When two teenagers are thrown into the world of burping and rocking and mechanical babies, it's a wonder they don't strangle each other. Cliché, short and overdone. Drabblish, AH.
1. Chapter 1

_"...weeks to determine- Mr Wayland!"_

Clary jumped in her seat, her pencil skidding from her grasp and her eyes snapping to the grinch at the end of the room. He lounged in an office chair next to the whiteboard, his podgy legs crossed at the ankles and hooked over the armrest, on show to the entire first row; all of whom failed to maintain eye contact for more than seven seconds.

Clary eyed the man carefully and found his gaze on the lonesome boy slouched at the table in front of hers. It wasn't surprising; Mr Panghorn was never one to pick on the weaker man. And Jace, with his borderline psychotic grins and pyromaniac-like tedencies was _not_, for all intents and purposes, the weaker man. She didn't know why the teacher did it or why, this month, he'd been riding Jace relentlessly. There were plenty of other students that snored through class, talked back or didn't do anything at all. There were plenty of students who had been nothing but disruptive throughout the year. Jace had always been good, quiet, and wrote essays nicer than her own- despite their undeservingly low marks. That his giganticness shielded her often snoring, back taking and lazy best friend from the teacher's scornful eyes was a bonus.

Her stomach sunk for the boy, as did her empty supply of respect for the man. He was a bully. A short, fat, pack-a-day smoker kind of bully that parked in clearly marked disabled parking spaces.

"Yes, Mr Panghorn?"

Clary glanced over at Jace. He turned a thick, silver ring between his fingers as he spoke.

"Care to explain why you consistently feel the need to fall asleep in my classroom?"

Jace sighed, and pressed the ring to the tabletop. With a jerk of his hand, he released it, and Clary watched it as it spun across the desk. As did Jace, apparently.

"Wayland," Panghorn snapped, "you will look at me when I am _speaking_ to you."

Jace brought his palm down on the ring, and glared up at the teacher.

"I'm sorry sir," he said. "It won't happen again."

Panghorn sneered a creul, horrible sneer, and Clary frowned with disgust. How one man could be so ugly- how one man could treat people so badly!

"I should hope not," Pangborn muttered. "Not after your next assignment."

the teacher turned back to the whiteboard, but not before catching Clary's obvious glare. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he grinned a gruesome grin.

"Do you have something you'd like to say, Miss Fray?"

Jace stiffened, and glanced back at her. She met his eyes with furrowed brows, and pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

_Do I? _

Jace shook his head the slightest, and Clary let out a resigned sigh before facing the grinch once more.

"No," she said, voice like ice. "Not today."

The tension left Jace's shoulders as he turned toward the front and slouched back against his desk. He didn't look at her for the rest of the period.

"What assignment?" Someone called from the back. "We _just_ handed one in!"

Clary resisted the urge to turn and locate at the whiner. She was still a little red from the exchange with the teacher, and she didn't want her classmates spurring her on, any.

The teacher re-folded himself on the chair, and smirked.

"Fear not, Ingrid." Clary rolled her eyes. "This is assignment is not of the written variety."

A wave of relieved sighs rolled through the room.

"First thing is first, partner up."

Clary immediately grasped at her best friend's hand, from where it lay beside him on his makeshift bed of her lap. She knew no one else would take him, it was merely a precautionary measure.

Mr Panghorn dragged a box forward while the class set about partnering up, and toed it open with the edge of his sandal.

"Okay," he said, clasping his hands together. The class silenced as he scanned the room, his eyes falling on Clary. He slowly bent and retrieved something from the box- something pink and plastic with gigantic head. It looked roughly the size of Clary's forearm; tiny.

"It's a baby!" Someone exclaimed.

Mr Panghorn smiled devilishly.

"Miss Morgenstern and Mr Wayland," Clary glanced over at Jace, "please come and collect your baby."

* * *

_I wrote this at crazy o'clock- 0:40 a.m, because it was in my head and I had to get it down. So I apologise for any mistakes, or the potential misspelling of the creepy demon's name._

_I don't own the Mortal Instruments. It's all Cassandra Clare's. _

_(: _


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to the two people that reviewed; **ALW4 **and **gottalovetheboywiththebread! **I write for praise, and if I don't get it I mope around and sulk about other stories that do. So thank you, is what I'm going for.  
_

_I don't own The Mortal Instruments, or any of the characters in this story. Except the fake baby._

* * *

"W-what?" Clary sputtered. "I don't want a baby- and my partner is Simon!"

"I'm sure your boyfriend will understand," Mr Pangborn said, waving the doll impatiently. "And if you choose not to partake in this particular assignment, then so be it, but you're to take the doll, Clarissa."

"But everybody else got to choose their partners," Clary argued. "This is just because you're angry at Jace. I didn't do anything, I should get to choose to."

Jace cleared his throat, clenching his fists against a flood of rejection. He wouldn't have chosen to partner up with the redhead, but he wouldn't have argued if someone had put her upon him.

"Do not think for one second, Miss Fray, that paired you with Mr Wayland for whatever childish, petty reason you just stated," the teacher hissed. "It was merely an academic decision, with the hopes that you would inspire our Jonathan to partake in at least one of the assignments this year. Now, you can take the doll, please."

"That's crass!" Clary exclaimed. "His work is better than my own! If anyone needs inspiring, it's Simon. He's failing!"

Pangborn glared, and placed the doll down on his desk.

"Then I suggest you find time outside of school-"

"But what about now," the girl interrupted. Jace rolled his eyes. "Simon will fail again if he's not paired with someone who can help him!"

The teacher bent down to retrieve another doll. "It's sweet you care about your classmate's grades, Clarissa, but you're working with Jonathan as I instructed. If you'd like to discuss the matter further you can take it up with the principal. Now, take the doll and be on your way."

"But-"

"The doll, Clarissa."

Jace heard Clary sigh as she slumped against her desk. Earlier, he'd been grateful; she'd risked banishment and bad marks just for him as the teacher went about his daily 'taunt and tarnish' routine. Now, as she tried to weasel away from him, all signs of that appreciation was gone. Again, a wave of rejection crashed over him. He wasn't that bad to work with.

He unclenched his fist and ran a hand through his hair. He pushed back his chair, wincing as it scraped the ground and eyes swivelled toward him. Exhaling loudly, he stood.

"Don't worry," he whispered to Clary, though not quite looking at her, "I'm extraordinary at playing happy families."

* * *

Clary slammed her locker door shut, and groaned.

"I'm just so angry at him!" She exclaimed, pressing her forehead to the cool metal door. "So, so angry."

"No," Simon said, dryly. "I'd never have guessed."

Clary glared at her friend.

Simon sighed and stepped forward, and placed his hand on her waist. He smiled, but his condescending brows sank with unspoken pity.

"You're mad," he said, pulling her closer. "I get it. But it's not the end of the world. So he's a bully; it's nothing Becks and Jonathan didn't warn us about. It's just three weeks."

Clary exhaled slowly, processing his words. With a frown, she nodded.

"Three weeks," she said, leaning into her best friend's chest. "Fifteen days. Okay."

"Okay."

Clary stilled, nice and comfortable in Simon's arms. He was warm, and hers and it didn't matter that they were in the middle of the hallway. She'd written her name on Pangborn's shit list and became a teen mom all in one hour; she needed a hug, so people could just go around them.

And they did. The crowd parted and streamed by them, and not an inquisitive eye was turned in their direction. She placed her hand over Simon's, and leaned back to look up at him.

"I do still wish you were my partner, though," she admitted, with a coy smile. "I'm terrified Jace'll get angry and set the baby on fire."

Simon smirked.

"Well, as lovely as this little gathering is," someone said, voice hard as steel, "did you just _shove our baby into a locker?"_

Clary flushed as a paled Simon pushed her frozen body away.

"Jace," he said, ignoring Clary's wide eyed stare.

"Simon," Jace greeted, sounding none too happy. Clary swallowed and pushed her hair out of her face, and then slowly turned to face her partner, who was absolutely fuming.


	3. Chapter 3

"No _way_," Jonathan snorted. "The lonely boy? Jesus, Clary, you're going to have one hell of a kid."

Clary glared into the camera.

"That's what Clary said," Simon stated nonchalantly, as he shuffled his way through her brother's old records. "Only _after _she'd suffocated the thing in her locker. For what it's worth, I think Jace'll be the better parent."

Clary turned her glare on her best friend.

"It was a momentary lapse in concentration," she said. "Most mothers have at least seven months to get used to the idea of a baby. I had zero-point two seconds. So excuse me for not quite meeting parenting standards just yet."

Simon paused on a Pink Floyd record, and plucked it from the box.

"Not all mothers," he murmured. "You've heard of those girls who don't know they're pregnant until a baby pops out, screaming, into some toilet bowl or another."

Jonathan's chuckles scratched through the laptop speakers, and Clary cringed away. She shifted her gaze back to the computer screen once more, her brows sunken into her forehead.

"You're still as loud as ever, then," she stated, with a grimace at her brother. "And to think- I was _just _starting to miss you."

Jonathan slapped his hand over his heart, and jerked his head dramatically to the left. Clary's heart lurched with the gesture; she _did _miss her brother, and more than anything she missed his theatrics. She supposed he knew she missed it all, too, as he was putting on a pretty good show today.

"You hurt me so, sister," he said. Then, "don't distract me. We were discussing your crappy parenting, were we not?"

"We were," Simon piped in.

Clary glared again.

"It's not crappy- _I'm _not crappy."

Jonathan arched a bushy brow.

"Denial won't get you an A, Larry," he said.

Simon snorted, and a muffled thump sounded throughout the room as one of her brother's old pillows hit his head.

"I'm not in denial," Clary argued, deflecting Simon's re-attack with an open palm. "I'm just- I don't know. You try having a baby with Jace Wayland. We're already having custody disputes!"

"Which has got nothing to do with your parenting methods," Jonathan said.

"Actually," Simon said, as he returned to his record, "the argument with her babydaddy really took it out of her. Our Clary cried herself to sleep in the nurses' office, and then turned zombie for the afternoon. Guess it's hard being a solo-mom, huh?"

Clary threw another pillow at her best friend with a huff.

"I did not 'cry myself to sleep.'" She glanced back at her brother. "Jace is just protective of the plastic baby. He's taking this whole parenting thing seriously, and didn't appreciate my suffocating the baby in my locker, so he called me out about it. I overreacted and spent the next period in the nurses' office. I did _not _cry, though. Or sleep. I had a baby to take care of, actually."

The pillow flew back at her, and hit her on the back of her head.

"She did cry," Simon told her brother as he slouched onto the bed beside her. "She's an emotional rollercoaster. It's probably a new mom thing."

"Post-foetal depression, or something," Jonathan agreed with a nod. "She just contradicted herself twenty times- I don't think she even understands what she's feeling. I think we need to get her help, Lewis."

* * *

_Filler chapter. I'm lounging for the weekend in the cutest little Bed and Breakfast so this update is crappy and 3G fuelled. _

_I have a few new followers, so, thank you!_

_I don't own The Mortal Instruments. And I don't own these characters. Only the baby, the plot, the dialogue and a little of nice-Jonathan, so. _

_Review!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for the reviews! __**Foxface'sSpecialPie, Rachel Anne Garman, Guest, 191838, Jadiee,**__ and __**Meltedmarshmallowsontoast.**_

_(:_

* * *

Clary paused at the end of the culdesac and glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. A childhood of class comradeship, occasional essay swaps and murmurs, and Clary had never once known the whereabouts of the Jace Wayland's home.

Clary triple confirmed the address on the piece of paper, and then hesitantly stumbled toward the gate with the allocated number. It crept open upon the lightest touch, and she stepped into a perfectly manicured mini-garden. It was much like her own in size and shape, but it held an array of colourful flowers and small shrubs. They grew up the wrought iron gate, hiding the enchanted little square from prying eyes in shades of pinks and purples and yellows. A cherry-tree lined cobblestone pathway curved up toward the front steps, and as Clary walked along it, admiring the heavenly smell the flowers permitted, she observed the house- much in the same condition as the front yard.

It was a little wooden townhouse, not irregular in the city, and was painted the prettiest lavender colour. The window frames were white, stretching up three stories, as was the front door and porch railings. It was odd, Clary thought, that a pyromaniac came from such a lovely, almost subduing home.

The steps creaked beneath her weight. As the front door grew nearer nervous butterflies erupted in her stomach. She reminded herself that she was merely there to pick up the baby, but she couldn't shake the fact that Simon's excluded, it was the first teenage boy's house she'd have stepped foot in alone. She closed the few steps to the front door, wishing she'd taken Simon's offer up to come with her.

Raising a fist to the door, she knocked lightly twice before realising a doorbell sat to the left. She pressed it, and then stood back and waited.

"He's showering," was the first thing she heard, once the door had clicked open. She wistfully pulled her gaze from the garden, and turned to face a six foot something man, all dark hair and blue eyes. He pushed a hand out, an amused smile dancing on his appropriately handsome face. "Michael Wayland. You must be Clary."

Clary bit down on her lip, and hesitantly dropped her hand in Michael's. His grip was weak and he stepped back too quickly once he'd shaken it, half pulling Clary through the door.

"Jace is in the shower," he repeated. "The baby is in his room. Go on up and get it, and I'll make some tea."

Clary slowly stumbled past him, her eyes on the olive walls of the hallway.

Hung in perfectly straight horizontal lines were family photos, baby Jace's face occupying a majority of the frames. Clary recognised the golden ringlets of his childhood; she'd admired them every day of first and second grade, and then the soft waves of the present. It wouldn't have been bad, she mused, studying the photos of his past, to have really have had a baby with Jace Wayland. Maniac tendencies aside, he had very nice genes. Proof of that stood behind her, smouldering eyes and all.

"Third floor," Michael said, tugging Clary back to reality. "And to the left."

She glanced back at him in confusion, earning her that amused smirk again.

"Jace's bedroom," he clarified. "It's on the third floor."

Blushing, Clary mumbled out a thank you, and headed toward the stairs at the end of the hall. She eyed the other walls as she climbed, following more photos up and around the stairwell.

As she neared the second floor after various stops to admire the Wayland lineage, she pushed herself along and with amazing willpower ignored the rest of the family portraits. A song she knew, but didn't know met her on the final stretch of stairs, and lead her straight to Jace's room.

It was on the left, just as Michael had said. The closed door had one single blue sticker pressed to it, just at a child's height, with a small black J printed on it. Down the hall a shower was running.

Clary poked at the door.

She expected pillow cases depicting death and burning, and swastikas and skeleton heads. However, much like the rest of the house the bedroom was neat. Cluttered and elaborately decorated, with lamps lighting the room a little too intimately- but tidy nonetheless.

It was nice, and normal. Clary almost didn't feel bad about wandering into Jace's personal space, uninvited.

What she didn't expect was a HD view of Jace's butt.

She stumbled back with a yelp, her hands covering her eyes of their own accord.

Dear Lord Jesus.

* * *

"I can't believe he just sent you up here," Jace was saying, his towel safely draped across his waist once more. "He knows I- he's an asshole."

Clary cuddled the baby awkwardly to her chest, her eyes on it's little plastic toes. Jace was still half naked, so she certainly wasn't going to look at him.

"In his defence, he though you were in the shower. Because clearly, only an idiot leaves the shower running when he's not in it."

Jace just groaned.

A quiet minute later the shower cut off, and Clary's head shot up, her gaze meeting his.

Guilt stuck to his face like a rash, evident in the curve of his eyebrows and twist of his mouth. For a short moment, Clary felt positively sick.

"I'm not a bad father," he hurried, as footsteps padded down the hallway. His eyes darted down to the baby, before meeting Clary's once more. "I swear he was asleep when- when-"

The door opened as Clary rose from the bed, baby clutched to her side and it's stupid fake baby bag hanging over her shoulder. She didn't look at the newcomer; instead staring at her baby's father with what she hoped was complete and utter disgust.

"With a baby in the room, Jace?" She growled, shushing her stirring son. "You're- you're an embarrassment! I can't believe I was paired with you!"

Jace had the decency to look wounded.

"I'm requesting a new partner on Monday," Clary said, too aware of the probing gaze of the girl lingering in peripheral vision. "Say goodbye to your kid, Jace."

* * *

_I probably won't update until the review count at least matches the story follower count._


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for the reviews, you did it you readers, you! __**AYOKI, Unmeone, Whisper-of-Warning, Guest 1, Guest 2, barneybear, aboxofbears, vnsjvhgs, Guest 3, Guest 4, Guest 5, Guest 6, Guest 7, Jadiee, love your story, Guest 8, Clacetmi, Lockwheres theKey, and gottalovetheboywiththebread.**_

_I will never ever ever hold a chapter hostage, again- you all reviewed so nicely!_

_So I have a proposition: review, and I'll DM you a little preview of the next chapter. . . As soon as I have it (probably in a matter of hours). You'll need an account though- if you don't, leave me a Tumblr/Twitter/social networking URL I'll be able to message you through in a review. _

* * *

"Oh my God," Clary cried, "please. Please be quiet, baby. Mom!"

Jocelyn shouted something in the living room, but the baby's little electronic lungs smothered the words before they'd reached her daughter.

Clary glared down at the toy, tears heating her cheeks. She was so fed up with the thing. So, so, so done. She didn't want to be a mom, and she sure as hell didn't want to keep the baby for another three weeks.

"Please," she moaned. "Please stop crying. You're not even hungry- you're not even real!"

She would have sworn the kid cried harder.

"Jesus," she moaned. "Mom!"

Once more Jocelyn shouted. Once more her efforts were futile.

Clary slouched onto her bed with a whimper, more tears spilling from her heavy eyes. Simon and Jonathan were completely and utterly correct; she was a horrible mother. If she'd fed the baby before bed, he wouldn't have woken her at such an ungodly hour. If she'd fed the baby before bed, she'd have had the bottle on hand- she'd have had the bottle, full stop.

And that was the whole goddamned point; she didn't have the freaking bottle, and the stupid baby was hungry, and she couldn't recall where she'd put it.

"Oh my God," Clary sniffed, wiping her nose with the arm of her sweatshirt, "I hate my life."

* * *

Jace was in full daddy-mode when Clary skidded onto the curb, crying as loudly as the unstrapped baby in his unrestrained carseat.

"I don't care about being a mom," she wailed as he helped her out of the car. "I hate our baby!"

He was quick to lean her against the bonnet and then retrieve his kid, potentially breaking his tiny, stiff arms in the process of strapping him into his stupid carrier.

"You're tired," Jace explained, lifting the carrier from the back seat. He shut the door and then rounded the car, clasping Clary's frozen hand tightly in his as he led her through the front gate. "We'll give the kid his bottle, and then you can sleep, OK?"

Clary sniffed, leaning heavily into his side.

He guided his little hypothetical family up the front steps, and then into the house. Kicking the front door shut behind him, he handed the carrier to Clary and guided her to the foot of the stairs.

"Take him up to my bedroom," he said, nearly shouting over the loudness that was his son's cries and babymama's sniffles. "I'm gonna get something to eat. You want anything?"

Clary's chin trembled, though to his utter relief, she didn't start bawling again. Instead, she mumbled out a yes, and then turned on her heel and started up the stairs.

Jace hurried through the house, grabbing a bottle of the highest caffeinated can of soda in the cupboard, a packet of gummy worms and a box of pop tarts. Halfway up the stairs the silence he'd waited for came; no cries or ear-grating screams. There was only the slightest slurping, the sound of his kid with his bottle.

He paused in the hallway, snatching a blanket from the linen cupboard, and then stumbled into his dimly lit bedroom. Clary lounged in his bed, as she had done earlier that day, with an elbow hooked around their baby. The kid sucked greedily at his bottle for all of two minutes- giving Jace the chance to down his soda and shove a pop tart in his mouth, before cooing happily and letting out a teeny burp of content.

Clary, clearly dead on her feet, handed the kid to him without batting an eyelash.

"I'm not driving home," she said, as she kicked her slipper boots off. "It's nearly midnight, and I already broke license curfew coming here."

Jace pressed the baby to his chest, and pat him lightly on the back.

"You can take my bed," he said. "I slept most of the day, so I'll take graveyard shift."

"Have you changed the sheets?"

"This morning."

He watched as she shuffled to the end of the bed and crawled under the covers.

"We need to give the baby a name," she yawned, as she carelessly maneuvered her arms out of her sweater sleeves. She pulled it over her head, and dropped it off of the side of the bed. "I can't remember the one he came with."

"Jason," Jace said, glancing at his son as a remedy for his lingering eyes. However, the lace of her tank top was quick to catch his attention once more as she shifted, giving him a full eyeful of her obviously braless chest. Coughing harshly, he grappled for control of his perverted gaze. "Justin. Something like that."

Clary's nose crinkled beneath puffy eyes. "No, not a J name. What about Hudson? Hunter, Daniel, Donovan, Peter, Percy?"

"I'll think of something," Jace said, his eyes on his son once more. "You should go to sleep, you're on day duty tomorrow."

"M'kay," Clary mumbled as her eyes flittered shut. "Thanks for being cool about this, Jace. I'm sorry I'm so screwed up tonight."

"The baby wouldn't stop crying," he said with a shrug, daring to look over at her. "I would've gone mad, too."

"I highly doubt that," she said, snorting weakly. "Goodnight, Jace."

"Night, Clary."

The bottle was at Jace's house- why Clary hit his footpath, distraught at midnight.

* * *

_Oh and here's a turtle gif: __** post/47249980292**__ (remove the spaces)._


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you to: __**Guest- **__I don't think you're a hater, I'm a Clace fan too :), __**Lockwheres theKey, rcs17, MilliniumLint (x5), Jadiee, **__and__** immortalprincess45. **_

* * *

Clary woke in a gradual wave of consciousness, roused by the screams of her plastic child. Her world spun for a moment, her head a jumble of quiet murmurings as she glanced around the dimly lit room.

Where in the hell was she?

Recognition hit her with a jolt, and she was quick to throw an over-fluffed pillow at her sleeping partner's head.

"Jace!" she whispered loudly, mindful of whomever occupied the house during the late hour. "Jace Wayland!"

She heaved herself up against the headboard and threw yet another pillow, recklessly hitting the swaddled infant in his arms in the process.

He stirred, shifting a heavy hand to cover the baby's small lips and then stilled again. With one final pillow to the head he jolted awake, and sent his helpless child tumbling to the floor.

"You're unbelievable!" Clary accused as she tugged the duvet up to her chin. "You said you would take the graveyard shift and you fell asleep!"

She watched as he retrieved the baby, his drooping lids fluttering lazily.

"Sorry," he mumbled casually, "but mentally unstable girls really exhaust the crap out of me."

"I'm _not_. . ." With a sigh, Clary covered her face with her hands. Arguing was pointless; the house was dead quiet, it was still too obviously dark out, and a sleep deprived, defensive Jace was not someone she wanted to meet. Recollecting her thoughts, she blinked heavily, and peeked over at Jace through her hands. "Can you just deal with the thing, please?"

A shadow of a smirk graced his face for the minutest second.

"The thing," he repeated, cradling the baby to his side. "Charming, Clary."

"I told you he needed a name," she said, as she shimmied back under the covers.

She watched from warmth of Jace's bed as he burped the baby for some god-awful reason (what baby needed burping at three a.m?), quietly observing his precious gentleness toward the child. She wouldn't have ever pinned Jace as the caring and soothing boy he was with their stiff, nameless infant on his chest. And like his home, this _nice_ Jace had sucker punched some sort of emotion out of her. Whereas his garden and hallway and lamp-lit bedroom had emitted wonder, Jace himself had pulled something forth that Clary hadn't quite identified.

He patted the baby's back gently, his chin resting on the child's head. He shushed it quietly, as he had Clary earlier that night amidst her mothering breakdown. And as Clary stumbled back over how gentle he'd been to her and how calmly and smoothly he'd handled the whole situation, that foreign emotion arose once more, clearer than it had been before.

Respect.

She respected Jace, a boy she hardly knew. She respected him because he'd taken care of her and their fake baby so selflessly and easily, something she doubted any other male partner would have done.

With the hidden emotion off of her chest, she turned away from Jace and rolled onto her side.

* * *

"You don't make an effort," Clary said, as she arranged his pillows neatly against the headboard. He tried not to watch her as leaned over the bed, her tank top riding up just the slightest bit- but God, was it ever difficult.

"I do make an effort," he argued, eyeing the teeny patch of skin peeking out from beneath the hem of her shirt. "Yesterday was proof."

She paused to throw a glare over her shoulder.

"Sleeping with common whores while your child is in the room is _not _making an effort. It's disgusting."

"Common whores happen to be people too," he teased. "And I did happen to say more than two words to her, so therefore it _was _social interaction, meaning I did make an effort."

"I highly doubt you said much of anything," she grumbled, as she returned to her task. Jace merely smirked and returned to his Clary-observing.

He was basically physically attracted to her, that much he would admit. It was the same brand of attraction applied to all women with even bodily proportions and a decent face, and stemmed purely from his Y chromosome. And while there was no more than a minor attraction on his part, the odds of him acting on it were higher than he'd have liked. If three more weeks of nights like the last were anything to go by, he'd be screwed.

Potentially literally.

"I mean with people at our school," Clary said, tearing him from his thoughts. "You never talk to anyone and you never _try _to talk to anyone. It's like you don't care you have no friends."

"You're certainly not shy, are you?" Jace grumbled, arching a brow.

"I just don't understand it. Why you choose to sit alone every day. Is no one in our school good enough to get to know?"

"No," he answered truthfully. "No one is. Look, I _have_ friends, Clary. I _talk _to people. Just not your people."

She spun around, a pillow still in hand, and leaned against his headboard. "But why? What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing," Jace said. "They're just not interesting."

"You don't make sense," Clary grumbled, picking at one of his mother's more expensive décor pillows.

"So I've been told."

The conversation ended, Clary returning to her bed-making and Jace returning to their baby, dressing him in one of Celine's knitted cardigans Clary had insisted on. The baby cooed each time Jace's hand swiped past it's back, seemingly content despite the unnatural angles he had to bend it's little plastic arms to get them in the pink woollen sleeves. When he'd finally manhandled the infant into its little button-up, he started on the pants; grey sweatpants with red stripes up the side, also provided by Jace's mother, who had gone baby-doll mad.

It was only after the kid was fully dressed that Clary pointed out the romper he still had on beneath his clothes, claiming that it had to be removed it they didn't want their son to overheat in the summer sun. Jace, partially sweating, groaned and started over again.

* * *

"Done," Clary declared, as she stepped back from the bed she'd spent the morning fussing over. Wiping her hands on her dark sweatpants, she turned to smile triumphantly at Jace. "I could really get used to this whole mothering house-wife thing. Making beds is kind of fun."

"Good," he replied, handing her their immaculately dressed child. "You've got three more weeks of it. The kid will need changing in about three more minutes, I'm going to go shower."

"Oh, OK."

He started out the door, but Clary was quick to stop him.

"Hey," she said as she caught his arm, a strange grin on her face. "Do you have any plans today? I'm going to go home and change, but I was thinking we could take the baby to the park or something."

"Um, OK," Jace agreed hesitantly, eyeing her hopeful pixie-like features. "The park. Cool."

"Great!" She said, the hint of a sly smirk curving at her mouth. "I'll pick you up in an hour."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the baby carrier was still unsecured and the baby unstrapped when she arrived an hour and a half later.

"Our kid is rubber, Jace," she said as he fiddled around with the carseat. "Short of melting his face off with a flamethrower, he's pretty indestructible."

Jace glared, bending the baby's arms backward once more.

When he finally slid into the passenger seat- Clary wouldn't let him drive, much to his dismay, he found her propped up against the steering wheel in shorts that left her surprisingly unblemished legs on show the entire trip.

"So," she said, shifting to smirk at him once she'd squeezed into a car park much too narrow for her car, "here's the plan. We're at least an hour's walk from your house, and see that boy standing over there?"

Jace followed her gaze to a giant gazebo, squinting through the harsh sunlight. Two figures stood inside of it, one of which pointing toward the car.

"That's Simon," Clary explained as his gut twisted. "And the girl with him, Maia, is his partner. They brought their baby."

"Clary," Jace murmured, glaring out the windscreen. "What are we doing here?"

"We're here to have a picnic playdate," she said. "And you're here to get to know someone from our school."

* * *

_I didn't plan the chapter this way, but Clary wouldn't shut up about the park, so. _

_Review (:_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you to all the readers who left reviews. I think I'll do another one of those chapter preview for review things if you're interested (:_

_Kind of a short chapter, but because of Clary's unplanned park event the story timeline is a little messed up. The next chapter should be longer._

* * *

"No," he said, with a single shake of his head. "I'm _not '_getting to know' that weasel and his weasel kid. No."

"Be nice," Clary snapped. "That's our child's godfather you're talking about."

"_He_ is not my son's godfather."

Folding her arms across her chest, Clary arched a red brow.

"I beg to differ."

"No," Jace said again. "Choose someplace else to go, Clary, or I _will _walk home. I'll take the baby with me, too."

"What is wrong with you?" his partner questioned, staring at him through wide, incredulous eyes. "What's wrong with Simon and Maia, huh? Why do you insist on being such a loser?"

"Your _friends_ are losers, Clary. All they do all day is talk about mindless crap and scribble stupid anime characters in their angsty little gothic sketchpads."

In the backseat of the car, the baby started to grizzle.

"And I'd rather cut myself than listen to those nerds prattle on about the latest comic book release or what they're wearing to Armageddon. God knows their Kid's first word is going to be _Spock_!"

A wave of relief hit Jace, a pressure lifting from his chest. Despite having insulted her friends, Clary would understand now- understand why Jace wouldn't waste time with the idiots she was associated with. Hopefully she'd just drive him home. He was fed up with the day already. Otherwise, he supposed he could handle a stop at a different park-

"You're such a fucking judgemental asshole," Clary said, interrupting his train of thought. He watched her incredulously as her words sunk in; _judgemental asshole. _

What?

"_God_, why would I even make an effort with you? Clearly _no one _likes you for a reason. And for the record, _our _baby's first word will be Spock. I _like _Star Trek, Simon's the one who hates it!"

Jace, eyebrows furrowed, glanced back at their now-crying baby quickly before voicing his confusion.

"Huh?"

"_I _like Star Trek," Clary said, tears brimming in her eyes much to his horror. "And _I'm _the one who owns a sketch pad, not Simon or Maia. _I'm _the artist, and _I'm the one who likes Anime!"_

"Clary-"

"Everything you just said was aimed at me, Jace, _not _my friends."

Crap.

Muttering a curse word to himself, he turned to her glove compartment and clicked it open, hurriedly searching for a tissue or napkin to hand the snivelling girl. Guilt swirled in his stomach as he came up empty handed, and met Clary's watery gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said, internally stumbling back over his words from earlier. "I didn't- not you, I didn't mean you. You're _OK_ to be around."

However, his good intentionally thought out words only seemed to upset her more. She pouted, and wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her top.

He watched on uselessly, stone still in the passenger seat of the car while his kid cried in the back and his hypothetical wife cried in the front. The relationship, which had been going _so _well, had now been completely blundered, and admittedly, it made him mildly uncomfortable. He didn't know how to fix it, because hell, he'd meant every word he'd said about her earlier, and she knew it.

"I'm sorry," he said again, grasping for some kind of control over the situation. "I really am, I- _Jesus. _I know I'm a dick sometimes, and I don't think before I open my mouth, but- those things I said, they didn't apply to you because I've seen a little of who you are and you're not _that _bad-"

"Shut up, Jace," Clary sniffed, as a tiny tear trickled over her cheek. "Just stop talking."

He pressed his lips together, all too willing to comply if it meant she'd stop looking like a kicked little puppy.

Their child's cry cut through the air, louder in the silence than it had been before. Jace turned back to glare at the baby, willing it to shut up as it's mother had requested, but it did no use. Eventually he leaned between the seats and unbuckled the kid, heaving it's baby bag onto his shoulder as he did so.

He changed it's 'dirty' nappy on his knee, and then carelessly slung him back into his carrier again. Truthfully, he couldn't care less if the kid wasn't strapped in- Jace had a more monumental task to focus on. Clary. She was still upset, staring out the windscreen with wet eyelashes and a runny nose. He grappled for something to say that would ease the tension in the air and take things back to the partnership they'd had before he'd opened his goddamned mouth, but came up with nothing.

"What can I do?" he asked, deeming it more effective than stuttering out apology after apology for the rest of their three week period. "So I can make up for being such an asshole, what can I do?"

Clary didn't hesitate to answer.

"Simon," she said with a snivel. "And Maia. You can meet them, and make an effort."

And though he hated the idea of doing so, he nodded an agreement, and squeezed out of the car.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you for the reviews. We're two away from seventy, crazy!_

_I think, **think- **that I may write one more Mortal Instruments fic. It'll ship Jace and Clary, but that's all I know. I'm still trying to think up some original plot that isn't clichéd or overdone, much like this one. I didn't think it'd be so hard to think of something so my own._

_But. Review, and I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I have it._

_(:_

* * *

"Would it kill you to make an effort?" Clary hissed, once she'd hauled Jace halfway across the field. She glared up at him, her hand pressed to her brow to shield her squinting eyes from the sunlight. "And if you argue that you _are_ I swear I'll hit you."

"I'm trying," Jace whined, flinching away from Clary's open palm. "It's just harder than I thought. He's a nerd and we've got nothing in common."

"You and I don't have anything in common. We get along fine. . . ish."

He sighed, and raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck. "We have a kid in common. I _have _to get along with you."

"And you _have _to get along with Simon," Clary said. "You promised me you would, so try harder."

Jace glanced back at the gazebo and met Simon's anxious gaze. He lifted a brow and the boy promptly turned away, busying himself with his kid- an olive skinned, almond eyed girl that _wouldn't _shut up, and his partner.

Jace hadn't found the partnerso bad, considering her boyfriend hosted the Stoner Society every Friday in the back of his stolen van. They'd met briefly once- the boyfriend and Jace, but neither had said anything more than 'hello' and 'want a spliff?'

In any case, glassy-eyed teenagers were much better suited to Jace than spectacle-eyed teenagers, which found Jace back at his own internal dilemma: rub shoulders with Simon and risk death by boredom, or flick grapes at his forehead and risk two days' worth of Clary's custody threats.

It was a lose-lose situation.

"OK," he said, with another sigh. "I'll try harder. I'll hold back on the rude comments etcetera, etcetera."

"Great," Clary said. "Thank you."

* * *

"So what's his name?" Simon questioned, his words a little too sharp and his hands wandering a little too much for Jace's liking. As if Simon's obvious distaste for his and Clary's kid wasn't offensive enough, his obvious skin to skin contact with Jace's partner was. What bothered Jace even more, however, was that Clary didn't rebuff the nerd once. She was practically exampling inappropriate PDA to their kid.

"Clary mentioned a few last night," he said, his eyes glaring at Simon's thigh-touching palm beneath drawn brows, "but we haven't decided yet."

Simon's brows pulled together, much like his own. He glanced over at Clary, frowning.

"Last night?"

Clary was quick to switch conversation, answering her friend before Jace could even open his mouth and leaving Maia blinking and halfway through her sentence.

"I left the bottle at Jace's," she said, not quite looking at Simon. The nerd lifted his hand off of her leg, but Clary caught it in her own before Jace could even begin to feel remotely smug. "I had to go pick it up so the baby would stop crying."

_I didn't go willingly_, her eyes said. _I didn't want to be there._

Ouch.

Feeling far from happy, Jace dropped his gaze to the ground and picked furiously at a patch of grass. The group shifted to the field after a short two-on-two soccer match, in which Jace had been partnered with Maia. They'd won by a mile, of course, with his agility and her speed. Sadly, the thrill of their victory died as soon as the pigheaded nerd pressed his lips to Clary's temple. Jace hadn't quite stopped sulking since.

Feeling more upset than awkward, Jace turned his attention to Maia, blocking out the lie- I went straight home after, Clary was spewing.

Maia was already watching him, however. Her brows were heavy over her narrowed eyes, her lips pursed thoughtfully.

"You really don't like him," she easily observed, tilting her head toward a now-bickering Simon. "Why?"

"All he does is stare at her ass," Jace proclaimed, eyeing Simon with distaste.

"And you don't?"

"That's different," He said. "They're meant to be best friends, and best friends don't leer at each other. Plus Clary and I have a kid together."

Maia raised a brow. "It's plastic. You have a plastic kid together. That doesn't count for shit. And it definitely doesn't mean you can stare at her ass- if anything, Simon has more reason. From what I've heard, it's probably nothing he hasn't seen before anyway."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that Simon's entitled to stare at her ass, and you're not, so your argument is null and void."

Jace huffed and picked at the ground again.

Maia just laughed, much in the same fashion as when they'd scored their winning goal earlier. "You just seem so defensive every time he talks to you, is all."

"And he's not?"

"He has reason to be. You've been partnered up with his girlfriend, or his best friend, or the love of his life or whatever. And you're going to be playing happy families for weeks. You can't blame him for hating you."

Jace looked over at Clary, who was engaged in a frowning match with her BFF. "_She's_ not defensive around _you_," he said. "You're playing happy families with Simon, and she likes you well enough."

"She doesn't care," Maia said. "At least, I don't think she does. She sure as hell doesn't look at him the same way he looks at her."

"What's that even got to do with-" pausing, Jace sighed and turned back to face Maia. "I don't understand what you're saying," he said. "And I sure as fuck don't understand them. Clary said they're friends, but the way you talk about them. . ."

Maia shrugged. "I don't understand them either. I'm just calling it how I see it."

"OK," Jace said, as he mentally stumbled over some new conversation starters. His little chat with Maia had veered off track- not that he'd known where said track was heading in the first place. He wasn't sure either of them knew what to say, and despite the awkward silence as he groped for something less. . . _emotional_ to talk about, he'd take it over the lover's spat Simon and Clary were engaged in a mere few feet away.

Thankfully, Maia ended the quiet lapse with a giggle, leaving Jace his emergency small talk weather card for his next non-ideal interaction with his next non-ideal means of company.

"She's a firecracker, that one," she said, shielding her eyes in much the same manner as Clary had earlier. Jace followed her gaze, his eyes seeking out Clary once more.

He hid a smirk as he watched her deal with Simon.

"You are _so _wrong," she half-yelled at her friend. "Open up the window and let some of the _wrong _out."

Maia let out another giggle, and Jace turned to raise a brow at her.

"Everybody Loves Raymond," she said, and he could only guess that Clary's words referenced the show in some way. Not that he cared much.

"C'mon, Clary," Simon half-yelled, half-whined. "You're _so _obvious. Jonathan said-"

Jace watched in amusement as she arched one crazed eyebrow, her cheeks swarming with pink.

"God, Simon, _shut up," _she said. "Shut up before you ruin the whole day."

Jace's eyes hardened as Simon pointed an arm in his direction. "Your jackass date has already done that, don't you think?"

Clary glanced over at Jace, her face dropping as she met his gaze. Much like earlier, her eyes spoke volumes. '_I'm sorry'_ was evident in the set of her brows for almost a whole second before she turned back to Simon.

Her lips moved again, but Jace couldn't hear a thing she was saying. She looked angry, even angrier than she'd been that morning, and he hoped like hell she was sticking up for him. As emasculating as it was to have a five foot one redhead defend his honour, someone needed to put the possessive nerd in his place, and Clary seemed the one most likely to do so.

The two each exchanged a few more sour words, and then Clary was on her feet and pouncing on her baby's carrier.

"We're going home," she said, shoving the baby bag at Jace. "Check we've got everything, would you?"

Jace nodded, riffled through the bag, and then pulled it over his shoulder. Clary was already onto saying her goodbyes to Maia, Simon left sulking on the edge of the giant-sized picnic blanket. Jace didn't do much else than glare at him in parting, however, he returned Maia's half-embrace and then accompanied a huffing Clary to her car.

"What was that about?" he said, as she reversed deftly out of her parking space. Their baby was silent in the backseat, as he had been most of the day.

"_That _was about Simon being a jerk. I'm sorry I forced you to-"

"It's OK," Jace said, preferring to stray from conversations involving his warped personal relationships. They seemed to always end up with Clary crying or yelling at someone.

"I just want you to have friends," she said, much to his dismay. "I think it's sad that no one likes you."

"People _do_ like me."

"No one at the school does."

"Does that matter? I don't care."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a small frown still tugging at her lips.

"_I _do."

Jace licked his lips and reclined his seat the slightest, avoiding Clary's gaze. He didn't dwell on her words, and he didn't want to. After all, she was still a stranger, and to misinterpret the words to mean something more would be detrimental to the harmony they'd unwittingly created. And it was difficult enough to prevent his eyes from wandering. If he were to believe she cared about more than just his measly social life, it wouldn't be just his eyes that went wandering.

"That's nice," he said, letting his eyes flutter closed, the sun warming his skin. "You care. Real nice."


End file.
